


Making up Shouldn’ts and Shoulds

by BlackEyedGirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jossed, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackEyedGirl/pseuds/BlackEyedGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma is tired of questing; Hook claims to have missed her. [Written for Porn Battle; spoilers for 2.12 and the teaser for 2.13]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making up Shouldn’ts and Shoulds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV for prompts _trust, new story, frustrated_.
> 
> Spoilers for 2.12 'In the Name of the Brother' and takes notes off the teaser for 2.13 'Tiny' and speculation about Bae's identity. Written without any knowledge of how any of that will play out.

“Darling,” he says, “I thought you’d forgotten me.”

Emma turns away from her drink to stare at Hook. Although the hook in question is missing again, and he has new bruises scattered across his face and neck. “This piracy thing?” she says. “Not sure it’s for you.” He raises one eyebrow. “You seem pretty bad at it,” she explains.

“Yes, well, I got into a little disagreement with a giant. And then your father.”

She snorts. “David punched you? What the hell did you do?”

He protests, “Now what would make you think that I was the one who-?”

“I’ve known you for more than a minute?” she points out.

Hook smirks. “Let’s just say that the name of your good lady mother may have been involved.”

“That would do it.”

He sits on the bar stool beside hers. “But much more importantly: I felt abandoned, love. It’s been weeks.” 

If she didn’t know him better, Emma might genuinely think he had been worried. She sighs. “Your crocodile called in his favour. And pointed out, none too nicely, that there was an idiot pirate he could take out his boredom on if I didn’t go running. So: roadtrip. But you knew that already.”

He presses his hand to his chest. “I didn’t hear the part about you rushing to my defence, love, I’m touched, truly.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just... really fucking tired of the bodies piling up in this town.” Emma lost her flippant tone somewhere in the middle of that sentence. She’s exhausted. Roadtrips used to be her primary way of life. Now... now, she just wants to stick around for a while. She wants the world to stop changing underneath her, wants the people she loves to stay safe and the people she thought she loved in the past to stay in the past. Emma never wanted a happily ever after – she wants some of that stuff in the middle where there’s no bodies and no curses and no one tries to pursue their ridiculous quests across three different worlds. She wants the part of the story where the narrator goes for a bathroom break and everyone can just catch their breath.

Hook is watching her with those dark-lined eyes, making as though he can see right through her. And after all that, he still goes with: “Bodies piling up isn’t always all bad,” and a wink.

Emma has to shake her head. “Did you honestly picture that working?”

“A man has to try.”

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why would a man attempt to charm a beautiful woman? Or why charm a beautiful woman who continually threatens to end him in creative ways? Because whichever it was, I don’t see the problem.”

“No, I mean- what do you expect to happen?”

He is confused enough this time that even his leer seems half-hearted. “Kissing? Fumbling, heat in all relevant parts. An energetic roll on something, preferably soft but I would settle for a decent bunk. Or a decent wall, let’s not stand on ceremony.” He considers for another moment. “Not to wake up handcuffed to something in the morning. Though I’m not ruling it out in the preceding stages.”

“And that’s all?” Not to break something or make something, not to bring destiny running. Kissing and sex, because he thinks they would both enjoy it. Not knowing more about her than she does, or thinking that he does. Not making plans behind her back to get her to the right place at the right time. No magic.

He asks, “What is that you think happens?”

Emma laughs. “In recent history? Jail. Or restoration of apparently traumatic memories followed by death.”

“Restoration of- who the hell have you been kissing?”

“The sad thing is, in my family that barely even counts as a specialist skill.”

Hook laughs at that, though he can’t know how much she means it. “Well,” he says, “you’re in luck. My memories are already too much intact. And you’re the only one here with handcuffs.”

She intended to say this last time, before he distracted her by being on death’s door. “You know, you’re the one who keeps bringing up the cuffs.” Emma throws some money on the counter and stands to leave. She doesn’t look around when she walks out, but she does listen.

His steps catch up with hers three paces down the street. “What _does_ a man have to do to make you stay in one place?” He grabs her arm; Emma takes the momentum of their sudden stopping and turns it around, pushing him against the wall. “All right then.”

“This is a wall,” she explains. “I also have a car, and an empty Sheriff’s station. I could go for the cot in the station, but if you’re going to be obnoxious about it...”

He mimes buttoning his mouth closed, which makes her roll her eyes. But he does shut up almost all the way to the station, and when he breaks silence it’s only to make an apparently innocent comment about the brightness of the moonlight. She doesn’t believe it for a minute.

The lights are off in the station. Emma locks the door behind them and prays to God her father doesn’t decide to go wandering around in here after midnight. She puts her phone in decent range, just in case, because apparently sometime in the last year she became a responsible adult with a kid and a job that matters if it doesn’t get done. 

Hook looks warily at her. “Not that it means much, coming from you, but if I could have an assurance that this isn’t some ruse to lock me up again?”

He deserves locking up. But if she was locking people up for mad revenge plots and magic punishments and generally behaving like either a sociopath or a six-year-old in a temper tantrum, there would be far fewer citizens left in town. Emma had to order Gold to turn someone back from a rat when they made it home. He did it, but she doesn’t think it was because he was so intimidated by her authority. He just didn’t care so much about Smee or Hook at that moment. Neither had she, in truth. 

Hook, at least, has never done anything for her own good. He lied to her for an hour the first day they met and as far as she knows he hasn’t tried that since. She’s not always so good either. And this isn’t going to change anyone’s world. She could go for the world staying unchanged, just for a little while.

Emma takes her handcuffs from her pocket and unstraps her gun. She locks them away in her desk drawer, along with the key to the open cell. Emma tucks the key to the drawer into the pocket of her jeans. “That’s the best I can do.” 

When she gets no objection to that, she shoves Hook into the cell, on his back on the cot. He doesn’t put up a fight, moving back just slow enough to keep them both from falling.

His clothing is much more complicated than hers, with far too many clasps and buckles. She thinks about telling him that he needs to assimilate more, but she can’t really picture him in jeans and a tee-shirt. He helps her get the rest of his outer clothes off, and Emma gives into the urge to climb on top of him. 

He curses, and she grins. “Thought this was what you wanted?” His hips press insistently upwards, rocking against her thighs. Emma is still mostly dressed, only kicking off her boots on the way to the bed. She leans down, rubbing the crotch of her jeans against his straining erection. “Changed your mind?”

He fumbles at the fly of her jeans, fighting with the zip fastener. “If there is a man alive who would change his mind at this-.” He looks up at her, pupils blown wide. “Though I do seem to recall a similar scenario in the recent past, which did not end well for me.” He shrugs philosophically. “For the moment, at any rate, I am enjoying the view. So what do you plan on doing with me, love, now that you have me?”

Emma braces herself up with one arm, getting her jeans and underwear off with the other, and throwing them to the floor. There’s barely enough room for both of them here but she doesn’t feel much like caring. His fingertips tease at the edge of her vest. He changes his mind and goes for a kiss instead, curving his hand round her face to pull her down. The bite he leaves on her neck will show for days.

He is already hard, rubbing against the crease of her thigh. She doesn’t think he would move for more if she told him to wait, but this isn’t that kind of game. Though his expression when she moves away to conjure the condom from her wallet is sort of hilarious. Emma takes him in her hand, jerks two – three times. Then lines herself up and moves. 

His hand is on her arm, holding tight. He meets her eyes without shame, gasping ‘Emma’. Her heart thumps harder behind her ribs, and she can see his speeding too. But they both stay contained in their chests. The room around them is still Storybrooke’s crappy holding cell, with the LED lights still lit beneath the computer screens. He still doesn’t belong here and neither does she, really, but it is where they’ve ended up.

Emma pushes down, feeling the slight resistance giving way. It’s been a while for her; she doesn’t know what it’s been for him, doesn’t know how years are counted in Neverland or during curses. But he watches her expression before rising to meet her, slow but speeding up, until they are crashing together with a snap of hips. 

He goes first, eyes rolling back in his head. He’s gorgeous, she can admit, here in the privacy of her own thoughts when he’s too far gone to be paying attention. She has a type, and this is it, and at least this one isn’t pretending to be good. He reaches between them, smiling softly, pressing her open a little further with his fingers and making circles. He is soft inside her but she rolls forward involuntarily, chasing down the last inches of friction. “There we go,” he murmurs, nonsensically soft, “beautiful, there.”

She loses her balance at the last, toppling onto him, crying out. His arm flies out to stop her from rolling off the cot. 

Emma lies there for a while, feeling his chest move.

He turns his head, eventually, to look at her, at the way her hair is lying over his chest. “Feel better?”

“Yeah. I do. We should probably...”

“Probably, yes,” he agrees. “Though I was never much enamoured of should.”

His heart beats, and she is glad of that. She doesn’t want him dead, although perhaps she should. Emma loved a boy, once, and after that was never sure enough she could love another. The first lie she thought she would never get over and this new one spiders so much farther than that. If nothing else, Killian has no part in that. This man only wants a revenge that will never fix him, and in between that he wants her. She knows better than the mistakes she made at seventeen and twenty-eight. She should have known better than this one too. 

“Me neither,” Emma says.

He smiles at her, making as though he can see right through her. Making as though he likes what he sees all the same. “Ah, darling, I always knew you were a woman after my own heart.”


End file.
